Saison D‘Enfer
by Houkanno Yuuhou
Summary: Way after The Jungle Movie, Arnold and Helga experience the many seasons of hell, and ultimately, one will die. Who really remembers the happy times?
1. On the Bus One Sunny Day

A short piece while I work on my other HA fic. This is one of several chapters. I don't believe in disclaimers because if the corporate sharks want to tear into me, then they will have me, eventually. The rating may go up a little, as a warning. Chapter Two should be up shortly. Any criticism, good or bad, is welcome. Thanks ahead of time.

"Go Rest High On That Mountain" is by Vince Gill.

Saison D'Enfer (A Season in Hell)

The only seat without a passenger lay next to Helga Pataki. He paused where he was, barely able to breathe. Because she was breath-taking? Well, no…well, yes, she _was_ pretty, if you got right down to it, but actually, it was because in reality, he was scared shitless of her, and he knew it. A guy scared of a girl? A girl that still wore _pigtails_ from time to time? Ah hell, Helga Pataki was not the average the _f_emale...far from it. She was strong -- very strong, and yes, it scared him and yet made him respectful of her domineering presence. She was just the sort of woman that commanded respect, he guessed, without actually having to ask for it. Or beat it out of someone, which she could still do. No, no male alive could fault him for being scared of this girl. It was just a fact of life that you came to deal with, like how you came to deal with the fact that jelly and peanut butter go together; you may not always like it, but they just go together, and there's nothing you can do about it.

The fact of life was…that girl could kick ass.

And not just other girls' asses. Hell, she could fist-fight with the best of them. She still scared Harold -- Harold who was a 350 pound linebacker, no less -- into making wee-wee in his pants when she scowled and raised that ever-loving fist of hers in his direction.

So he paused to collect his emotions a bit before he had to sit next to her. Gulping hard to make the lump caught in his throat pass, he continued on down the aisle slowly just to make the time pass quicker. If he was lucky, he could make the journey stretch some, and he would be at school before he had to even take the seat.

But who was he kidding? When it came to Helga, he had never been lucky.

Oh yes, he knew almost everything there was to know about her, but he still felt that she kept some things to herself that she was just afraid to let the general public, including him, know. Even though she had admitted long ago that she really liked him, he still found it a hard pill to swallow. Who could believe it? Helga had stayed nearly the same over the years. Sure, she had grown quieter and more pensive over the years, choosing to forgo her friendship with Phoebe altogether in favor of keeping to herself all of the time, but she could still brawl when the passion entered her. She could still be a bully, and yes, _always_ to him. Curse genetics for his damned oval-shaped head that had never quite grown to fit the rest of his body.

But there he was right next to her, taking in her cheap, although be it overly flowery perfume. She was engulfed in some music and a book of poetry, which failed to surprise him. He sat next to her and cleared his throat.

Feeling the sudden change in the air around her, he watched her as she carefully marked her spot and closed the book. He looked at the worn cover and read the title indented in the leather: _Arthur Rimbaud, Saison D'Enfer._ She looked at him with curiosity plainly evident in her eyes. With music still playing, she asked, "How's life treating you, football head?"

He sighed and shook his head. "It never changes, does it, Helga?"

Thoroughly pleased with herself, he could tell, she smirked and answered, "Nope."

He sighed again and looked her over, taking everything in. Her hair was up in pigtails again -- two short ones streaked with hot pink. She was dressed in one of her many infamous black dresses -- dresses that made her look like she was always ready for some Victorian-style funeral if it were not for the heavy, black work boots that accompanied her feet. This dress was lacy and a bit more feminine-friendly than usual. Her face was painted with black make-up; eyes and mouth were covered completely. The way she pouted her lips when she wore black made her have a sexy aura about her. He noted that she had grown into a pretty girl over the years -- not drop-dead gorgeous but nothing to dismiss easily either. She still had the clearest blue eyes and the sunniest hair that reminded him of a nice summer day.

She was such an oxymoron to him; a gothic version of a Barbie doll come to life. The image he conjured made him laugh aloud, and she turned from looking out the window in order to figure out what was funny. He shrugged, smile still glued to his face, and she sneered and then turned her attention to the sites outside again. He almost broke into laughter again when he saw the look on her face, but quickly restrained himself, thinking better of it.

The he noticed the soft ballad coming from her headphones and out of curiosity, he leaned over and grabbed her left ear-bud so he could listen in. He wasn't ready for what was coming from the CD player -- Bluegrass music. He heard a man with a soothing voice singing something about resting high on some mountain, and the effect it had on him made him feel a sort of sleepy calm.

Suddenly, the piece was ripped away from him, and a very pissed Helga was frowning at him.

"Do you mind?" she growled.

He felt like laughing again, but he couldn't muster the courage to do so. Helga Pataki, derriere kicker extraordinaire, liked listening to Bluegrass? Gerald would absolutely laugh himself to death when he told him!

Ah, damn it. He just couldn't do it. He still felt like he owed her something every time she opened up to him. After all those years, he still felt guilty for never loving her back. Well, yeah, he liked her, and she was pretty and could be nice when she removed the stick from her ass, but he had never found the special thing in her that she seemed to have found in him long ago. He felt a certain paternal need to watch over her every now and then just because he knew her secret, and he would readily admit that he called her one of his friends…albeit on nonspeaking…or rather barely speaking terms, but he just didn't feel that way about her.

She reached down with her left hand and turned off the CD player and then took off her headphones, winding the cord carefully so it wouldn't tangle later. Then she peered up at him, maybe just to see if she had his attention; he didn't know. Smiling gently, she said as if she was answering what she thought was the question on his mind, "It's by Vince Gill. 'Go Rest High on the Mountain' is the name of the song." Then she hesitated slightly, and her eyes turned their attention to the floor. She seemed to be unsure of whether or not to continue talking to him.

Was he that far up there on the popularity peer scale that she was actually afraid of carrying a conversation with him?

Well, he _was_ pretty far up there, but Helga was just uneasy when it came to communicating with other people, period. But still…she seemed so lost when it came to him. Goddamn it! Was he actually sitting there and making himself worry over her again? What was his problem? She was the same age as him, for Christ's sake, and capable of taking care of her own needs and worries, so why was it that he always needed to butt into her life like he was her very own personal savior?

"Arnold, are you okay?" Her voice was so soft that he almost didn't hear her. She appeared worried now, but the fear and confusion were still there, behind everything.

He forced himself to snap out of it and talk to her. "Yeah…so what's the song about?"

The part of her unibrow that was over her right eye arched. "You mean…you liked it?"

He nodded and smiled. "Yes, I like it. So tell me what it's about."

She turned the CD player back on and searched the tracks for the song again, and when she found it, she handed him the headphones. "You'll just have to listen."

He put the headphones on, and the same enchanting melody came from the tiny speakers.

_"I know your life  
On earth was troubled  
And only you could know the pain  
You weren't afraid to face the devil  
You were no stranger to the rain  
Go rest high on that mountain  
Son, your work on earth is done  
Go to heaven a shoutin'  
Love for the Father and Son  
Oh, how we cried the day you left us  
We gathered round your grave to grieve  
I wish I could see the angels faces  
When they hear your sweet voice sing…"_

He listened as the chorus repeated, and when it was done, he handed the headphones back to her, somewhat reluctantly. It was such a sad song, and he honestly wondered for a minute why anyone would want to listen to music that would only make them cry. But that was Helga. Her whole life to her had been a badly-played joke, as she had once commented. Was it any wonder she always wore black?

He did have to admit though that it was a beautiful, if somewhat depressing, song.

"So?" she asked as she turned the CD player off again and wound the headphones, again, carefully.

"It was…." He paused for a while, searching for the right word.

"You didn't like it," she whispered.

"Actually, I did like it. It was just so…why on Earth do you listen to such sad stuff, Helga?"

"Because, Arnold, I _am_ sad," she said softly, almost to herself. Then she looked out the window again.

He sunk in his seat a little, feeling, once again, sorry for her because of all she'd suffered, and yes, because of the secret. The damn secret! Sometimes, he wished she'd have just kept things to herself just so he could live a normal teenaged life, free from the heavy burdens that had plagued him in his early years and certainly free from the damn grip that she had on his manhood! Figuratively speaking, of course.

But he couldn't bring himself to hate her…maybe to dislike the hold she had on him, but…well, then again, there he was blaming his problems on her. It occurred to him that he only thought she had him by the balls because maybe…well, maybe he had put the hand there, himself?

He shook his head and looked at his watch. They still had ten fifteen minutes to go before the school came into view, so he unceremoniously grabbed the Rimbaud book from her lap and ignored her angry outburst while he thumbed through the book until he found the page she had been reading. He read the passages she had underlined with a pink -- he laughed to himself again, amused at the way she always chose pink -- marker.

_"O my eternal soul,  
Hold fast to desire  
In spite of the night  
And the day on fire.  
You must set yourself free  
From the striving of Man  
And the applause of the World!  
You must fly as you can...  
No hope, forever;  
No orietur.  
Science and patience,  
The torment is sure.  
The fire within you,  
Soft silken embers,  
Is our whole duty-  
But no one remembers….  
Now all desire has gone --  
It has made my life its own.  
That spell has caught heart and soul  
And scattered every trial…  
And, oh, the day it disappears  
Will be the day I die." _

He closed the book with a "huff", like he had been punched in the stomach and was letting out air. Very nice writing, he supposed, but it was all a little over his head. Though it definitely wasn't over Helga's, he was sure. He noticed that she was staring out the window again, and she had that soft, sexy pout on her lips that he liked and her eyes were downcast. Even though she looked so sullen, she was still a beautiful woman, and he wondered why she wasn't out breaking guys' hearts instead of breaking their heads. Why were they not allowed the same carefree lives that other kids their age had? He with the whole damn world on his shoulders and her with the whole damn hurt in the world in her heart.

They were really the same, he and Helga. Why hadn't he noticed it before?

He placed the book back on her lap, and she turned away, eying him first with frustration and then slowly with confusion as he smiled at her…and miraculously, she smiled back. She rarely smiled for anyone, and when she did for him, he felt his heart skip a beat because he knew he had seen something that would, if it were a work of art in a museum, be considered priceless. She was showing her hidden side to him, again, and he didn't understand why him, but he found that he didn't really mind this time as he hadn't the previous times. In fact, he actually reveled in it.

She noticed him grinning like a loon and asked, "What's with you?"

"Why don't you smile more often? You look pretty when you do."

She blushed almost the same shade of pink that was dyed into her hair. "I…I guess I usually don't have a reason to."

"Well, you should find a reason. Guys would fall at your feet if you did."

She smiled again, although this time to herself. "Well, I don't care about guys. There's only this one guy that I like." It was an old joke between friends. They both giggled together, and then she settled back into her seat again, and he kept to himself when he saw that the bus was approaching the high school campus.

Maybe Helga wasn't so bad, after all. Maybe everything he had ever thought about her was wrong. Helga was synonymous with mystery, and she liked it that way, and maybe, he did also. Hell, maybe she had always worn her sensitivity on her sleeve, but he had been too dense to notice it before. Maybe everyone was wrong about Helga, and maybe she was really better than them all.

Nah.

But he had finally found that special something that was deeply hidden in her many layers, and he was really starting to like her, after all.


	2. Under the Old Oak Tree

I've had this written for a while, but I've spent time revising it, trying to put everything into it. I think I managed to put a piece of myself into it. In any case, I hope it moves you. Four things: one, the poem from the last chapter was by Arthur Rimbaud, and the song was by Vince Gill (see Nat, I do listen to some Country). I thought I'd made that clear in the story, but I guess not. Two, no, no one will die an untimely death in this. This reflects on brief moments in their lives. It's meant to be a bit of an happy afterthought that Arnold is reflecting upon in a future time, which will come at the end. Three, writing about sex embarrasses the hell out of me, so you will see no sex in this…just hints. Fourth and final thing, yes, I curse a lot. Anyone here that has talked to me in the chatroom can vouch for that. They are only Anglo-Saxon words, people, and a part of every day language. Sorry if it offends you, but this is me, and I cannot change me. That's all. Sorry for the long Author's Note.

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Graduation was quickly on its way. They had agreed to meet under Big Pete so they could talk about the future. He often found himself wishing that their high school days wouldn't come to an end, but he knew that holding on to that childish aspiration was simply futile.

Still maintaining his swift canter, he brought his arm forward so he could glance at the time on his watch, and then sighed heavily. He was already three minutes late, and he would have to run the rest of the way if he didn't want another lecture about tardiness. It was annoying to always be on the run for her, but he had come to semi-accept it since he had read some of Phoebe's medical books on schizotypal behavior. Helga needed him to be on time because it assured her that something awful wasn't happening to him or to her. If he was even a second late, she would go into hysterics.

Though it didn't really matter at the moment, because she would become unnerved anyway after he told her what was on his mind.

As he rounded the corner, she was there sitting beneath the mighty oak. The same book of Rimbaud poetry that had drawn him to her a long while back was opened and placed elegantly in her lap. She licked her finger before she turned the page, and for reasons only his hormones really knew, it looked enticing. It made him deeply regret what they were about to do.

She looked up when she heard his footsteps nearing and frowned. "I thought something terrible had happened to you!" She offered a hand, and he accepted, sitting down next to her. Then she smacked him on the arm and exhaled vehemently. "I was worried, you idiot! What took you so long?"

"Helga," he began and then was breathlessly knocked on his back while her tongue explored his mouth. Just as he was beginning to relax, she stopped and glared at him.

"You didn't answer my question."

He laughed nervously. What had happened wasn't his fault, of course, but he knew she would be less than thrilled. 'Uh, I ran into…Lila…on the way here." The unibrow furrowed in displeasure. "Wait! It's not what you think!" he exclaimed while waving his arms anxiously. "She stopped me to tell me to congratulate you on getting chosen for class salutatorian, that's all. I swear," he added for extra measure.

It worked.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, smelling of lilacs and grape bubblegum, and he took in the aroma willingly. "I knew it was nothing." She drew close to him and nuzzled his chest. "I can always trust you, Arnold."

Could she? He had come here to talk about their college plans, and how he thought that it would be a good idea to agree to see other people since they would be so far away from each other, but now, he was having second thoughts. Looking down on her, seeing her smile, blissfully unaware of what was coming…he just couldn't find the heart to say anything. She looked up at him, and he gulped as he noticed how the sun reflected off her eyes, making them sparkle. His hormones threatened to take over again for the sake of wanting to be close to her, and his mind struggled with him to keep him from throwing her to the ground and….

The very thought made him blush ferociously still.

"Arnold?"

"Y-yes?" he stuttered, his voice changing pitches quickly from excitement and awkwardness. He hoped she couldn't notice what was going on beneath her stomach.

So much for that wish. Her cheeks were pinker than her hair. "Uh…Arnoldo? Is there something…wrong?" Then the evil side of her took over, and she smirked at him. "Can't you control yourself, 'Mr. Campfire Lad'?"

"Helga!" he warned. It would do no good if she went there right now.

But went there she did, as usual. A slender hand slipped between his lap and her waist, and then she began to torture him slowly by pretending to move her hand to caress him. Each time, she would inch closer and closer, and then she would pull away again. He had to give it to her; she knew how to drive him wild. "What?" she asked innocently, fluttering her eyelashes in an attempt to be coy. "What am I doing wrong?"

He stifled a moan. "N-nothing…just stop that, okay? We need to talk, remember?"

She sighed and withdrew her hand. "So talk already."

He stretched and leaned against the tree; one hand went behind his head to comfort it, and the other went around her shoulder to comfort her. It was now or never. "Well, we need to talk about what we're going to do in the Fall. You've got a scholarship for Stanford, and I'm going to Washington. We're going to be miles apart."

One half of the unibrow arched. "So?"

"Helga, how are we going to keep in touch?"

She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it. "I haven't given it much thought. I figured we'd call each other and get together on the holidays."

He shook his head. "It's nearly impossible-"

"But it's not impossible," she interrupted in her sly way. "Long distance relationships can work, Arnold-"

Then he cut her off. "No, Helga. You're stalling, and you're being unreasonable. We won't have the time or the money to see each other." He sighed and looked to the ground. "I think it would be best for us to see other people…starting after graduation, just so we get used to being apart."

She stared at him. No hurt, no understanding…merely mild frustration. "You aren't even giving this a chance! It can work, Arnold! It can work if we make it work," she half-whined, half-whispered. There was no passion left in her. He realized that she had already known what was happening, and painfully, if somewhat stubbornly, she was giving in to it.

He smiled at her gently. "In your heart, you know I am right."

"If you would just come with me, this wouldn't be so hard," she pouted.

"And where would I get the money?" he laughed. She wrinkled her nose in aggravation. "See? It wouldn't have to be forever. Just until we are done with our studies." He raised her chin to look into her eyes, and she lifted them reluctantly. "We can even get together for the holidays. Being away from each other will make our love stronger, right?"

She groaned. "I suppose."

Having said his piece, he allowed himself some joy, and accordingly, he kissed her. She hugged him securely, as if that action would keep them from separating. "You know I'll always love you, Helga. No matter where you are."

She didn't smile. "Of course. What more could I ask for?"

"What's wrong?"

Her eyes remained fixated on a spot in the grass. She stared so callously that she ended up squinting, and he noticed her rubbing tears from her eyes. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Are you crying?"

She remained unmoved. "A favor, please? For someone you profess to love?"

"Helga--"

Her body began to tremble. "Just allow me one little, lousy favor, damn it!"

He started to panic. What the hell could she want? "Sure, I guess."

She started to squirm, and it was utterly obvious that she was timid about something. Her hand ended up on his arm, stroking it. The feeling was delightful; it sent him into pleasant shivers. "I…I want to be your…f-f-first," she choked out. Then she slapped herself angrily and stammered, "Well, I don't know if I'm your first, but I'd l-like you to be m-m-my first…if that's okay with you." She looked up at him sheepishly.

What the hell was she trying to say? "Huh?" Suddenly, he heard an irritated mumble, and a hand smacked the back of his head. "Ouch! What the hell was that for, Helga?"

"Are you that dense?! I'm saying that I want to have sex with you, you fucking idiot!" Her body was heaving from pent-up anger and fervor.

He swore that he could cut the sexual tension with a knife just then.

"Well?" Her scowl settled on her face like it had never left.

The part of him that had remained naïve told him that offering himself to her at a time like this clearly wasn't a brilliant idea, but the part of him that was hormone-driven was yelling at him to go for it because she was ready, and he wouldn't have another chance like this for a while. Hell, maybe even never.

She was so stunning. How could he refuse?

He nodded and then moved forward to kiss her, but she pushed him away. "What now?"

Her delicate laughter filled his ears. "Well, Arnold…did you think that I wanted to do this right here in the open, where everyone in public can see?"

For one weird, innocent moment, he was taken back by her query, but then it dawned on him where they were, and he began to laugh with her. "OK, so exhibitionism is out of the question. Where can we go?"

Her laughter grew stronger. "As corny and cliché as it sounds, my parents are out of town, visiting Olga," she said, emphasizing Olga in her usual sarcastic way. "We can use my room." He nodded and stood, offering a hand to her. She shrugged him off. "I can stand on my own just fine, thanks."

He smiled. 'A bit of foreshadowing there, Ms. Pataki?' he mused. Again, he nodded, and they began the trek to her house. All sorts of thoughts were flowing through his head. Thoughts of what they were about to do, thoughts that she could get pregnant, and thoughts that she'd change her mind or worse -- hate him in the end. And then he began to reflect on their time together and their future, and the more he spent dwelling on it, the more he knew that he'd wind up missing her and feeling like some stooge when he was on his own again. Time had long passed since he'd mentally accepted her as a part of his life…and possibly, his soul. So what now? They'd go back to her apartment, get to know each other in a whole new light, and then he'd just leave her? It wasn't that simple for her or even for him. Even if he'd tried to be flippant earlier with her and brush her off like a crumb, deep inside, he really did love her, and it was tearing his core apart to think about the future…his future without her.

Maybe sex was a big mistake.

Using his peripheral vision to look at her, he weighed the possible outcomes of telling her that he couldn't bring himself to go through with their plan. None of the outcomes he visualized pleased her, and definitely didn't please him.

Suddenly, she broke the awkward silence of their journey and said, "I'm glad you aren't having second thoughts, Arnold."

Well, so much for trying to get out of it.

She continued. "I mean, there are plenty of other girls out there that would like to be in my shoes, and they are a hell of a lot prettier than me." Then she coughed, and when he glanced askance, he noticed she was fighting with herself to prevent crying. "I mean…well, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll understand." She whispered, "I guess," and then focused her attention on the sidewalk again.

He should have felt relieved, but he didn't.

Because he was suddenly aware that he wanted -- no, needed this just as much as she did. It felt like completion.

But it also felt like the end.

"You aren't answering me," she said, interrupting his train of thought.

He smiled gently. "No, I'm not having any second thoughts. I love you, and this feels right." Her grip on him tightened, but not in a painful way. "Like I said, Helga, I'll always love you. You know that."

"I hope so," she whispered. It was almost too soft for him to hear. "I really hope so."

If there was a way to physically kick himself in the ass, he would've invented it just then. Instead, he just felt depressed. How could she doubt his love for her?


	3. Misery Loves Company

I've had this written for a while, but I've spent time revising it, trying to put everything into it. I think I managed to put a piece of myself into it. In any case, I hope it moves you. Four things: one, the poem from the last chapter was by Arthur Rimbaud, and the song was by Vince Gill (see Nat, I do listen to some Country). I thought I'd made that clear in the story, but I guess not. Two, no, no one will die an untimely death in this. This reflects on brief moments in their lives. It's meant to be a bit of an happy afterthought that Arnold is reflecting upon in a future time, which will come at the end. Three, writing about sex embarrasses the hell out of me, so you will see no sex in this…just hints. Fourth and final thing, yes, I curse a lot. Anyone here that has talked to me in the chatroom can vouch for that. They are only Anglo-Saxon words, people, and a part of every day language. Sorry if it offends you, but this is me, and I cannot change me. That's all. Sorry for the long Author's Note.

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Graduation was quickly on its way. They had agreed to meet under Big Pete so they could talk about the future. He often found himself wishing that their high school days wouldn't come to an end, but he knew that holding on to that childish aspiration was simply futile.

Still maintaining his swift canter, he brought his arm forward so he could glance at the time on his watch, and then sighed heavily. He was already three minutes late, and he would have to run the rest of the way if he didn't want another lecture about tardiness. It was annoying to always be on the run for her, but he had come to semi-accept it since he had read some of Phoebe's medical books on schizotypal behavior. Helga needed him to be on time because it assured her that something awful wasn't happening to him or to her. If he was even a second late, she would go into hysterics.

Though it didn't really matter at the moment, because she would become unnerved anyway after he told her what was on his mind.

As he rounded the corner, she was there sitting beneath the mighty oak. The same book of Rimbaud poetry that had drawn him to her a long while back was opened and placed elegantly in her lap. She licked her finger before she turned the page, and for reasons only his hormones really knew, it looked enticing. It made him deeply regret what they were about to do.

She looked up when she heard his footsteps nearing and frowned. "I thought something terrible had happened to you!" She offered a hand, and he accepted, sitting down next to her. Then she smacked him on the arm and exhaled vehemently. "I was worried, you idiot! What took you so long?"

"Helga," he began and then was breathlessly knocked on his back while her tongue explored his mouth. Just as he was beginning to relax, she stopped and glared at him.

"You didn't answer my question."

He laughed nervously. What had happened wasn't his fault, of course, but he knew she would be less than thrilled. 'Uh, I ran into…Lila…on the way here." The unibrow furrowed in displeasure. "Wait! It's not what you think!" he exclaimed while waving his arms anxiously. "She stopped me to tell me to congratulate you on getting chosen for class salutatorian, that's all. I swear," he added for extra measure.

It worked.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, smelling of lilacs and grape bubblegum, and he took in the aroma willingly. "I knew it was nothing." She drew close to him and nuzzled his chest. "I can always trust you, Arnold."

Could she? He had come here to talk about their college plans, and how he thought that it would be a good idea to agree to see other people since they would be so far away from each other, but now, he was having second thoughts. Looking down on her, seeing her smile, blissfully unaware of what was coming…he just couldn't find the heart to say anything. She looked up at him, and he gulped as he noticed how the sun reflected off her eyes, making them sparkle. His hormones threatened to take over again for the sake of wanting to be close to her, and his mind struggled with him to keep him from throwing her to the ground and….

The very thought made him blush ferociously still.

"Arnold?"

"Y-yes?" he stuttered, his voice changing pitches quickly from excitement and awkwardness. He hoped she couldn't notice what was going on beneath her stomach.

So much for that wish. Her cheeks were pinker than her hair. "Uh…Arnoldo? Is there something…wrong?" Then the evil side of her took over, and she smirked at him. "Can't you control yourself, 'Mr. Campfire Lad'?"

"Helga!" he warned. It would do no good if she went there right now.

But went there she did, as usual. A slender hand slipped between his lap and her waist, and then she began to torture him slowly by pretending to move her hand to caress him. Each time, she would inch closer and closer, and then she would pull away again. He had to give it to her; she knew how to drive him wild. "What?" she asked innocently, fluttering her eyelashes in an attempt to be coy. "What am I doing wrong?"

He stifled a moan. "N-nothing…just stop that, okay? We need to talk, remember?"

She sighed and withdrew her hand. "So talk already."

He stretched and leaned against the tree; one hand went behind his head to comfort it, and the other went around her shoulder to comfort her. It was now or never. "Well, we need to talk about what we're going to do in the Fall. You've got a scholarship for Stanford, and I'm going to Washington. We're going to be miles apart."

One half of the unibrow arched. "So?"

"Helga, how are we going to keep in touch?"

She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it. "I haven't given it much thought. I figured we'd call each other and get together on the holidays."

He shook his head. "It's nearly impossible-"

"But it's not impossible," she interrupted in her sly way. "Long distance relationships can work, Arnold-"

Then he cut her off. "No, Helga. You're stalling, and you're being unreasonable. We won't have the time or the money to see each other." He sighed and looked to the ground. "I think it would be best for us to see other people…starting after graduation, just so we get used to being apart."

She stared at him. No hurt, no understanding…merely mild frustration. "You aren't even giving this a chance! It can work, Arnold! It can work if we make it work," she half-whined, half-whispered. There was no passion left in her. He realized that she had already known what was happening, and painfully, if somewhat stubbornly, she was giving in to it.

He smiled at her gently. "In your heart, you know I am right."

"If you would just come with me, this wouldn't be so hard," she pouted.

"And where would I get the money?" he laughed. She wrinkled her nose in aggravation. "See? It wouldn't have to be forever. Just until we are done with our studies." He raised her chin to look into her eyes, and she lifted them reluctantly. "We can even get together for the holidays. Being away from each other will make our love stronger, right?"

She groaned. "I suppose."

Having said his piece, he allowed himself some joy, and accordingly, he kissed her. She hugged him securely, as if that action would keep them from separating. "You know I'll always love you, Helga. No matter where you are."

She didn't smile. "Of course. What more could I ask for?"

"What's wrong?"

Her eyes remained fixated on a spot in the grass. She stared so callously that she ended up squinting, and he noticed her rubbing tears from her eyes. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Are you crying?"

She remained unmoved. "A favor, please? For someone you profess to love?"

"Helga--"

Her body began to tremble. "Just allow me one little, lousy favor, damn it!"

He started to panic. What the hell could she want? "Sure, I guess."

She started to squirm, and it was utterly obvious that she was timid about something. Her hand ended up on his arm, stroking it. The feeling was delightful; it sent him into pleasant shivers. "I…I want to be your…f-f-first," she choked out. Then she slapped herself angrily and stammered, "Well, I don't know if I'm your first, but I'd l-like you to be m-m-my first…if that's okay with you." She looked up at him sheepishly.

What the hell was she trying to say? "Huh?" Suddenly, he heard an irritated mumble, and a hand smacked the back of his head. "Ouch! What the hell was that for, Helga?"

"Are you that dense?! I'm saying that I want to have sex with you, you fucking idiot!" Her body was heaving from pent-up anger and fervor.

He swore that he could cut the sexual tension with a knife just then.

"Well?" Her scowl settled on her face like it had never left.

The part of him that had remained naïve told him that offering himself to her at a time like this clearly wasn't a brilliant idea, but the part of him that was hormone-driven was yelling at him to go for it because she was ready, and he wouldn't have another chance like this for a while. Hell, maybe even never.

She was so stunning. How could he refuse?

He nodded and then moved forward to kiss her, but she pushed him away. "What now?"

Her delicate laughter filled his ears. "Well, Arnold…did you think that I wanted to do this right here in the open, where everyone in public can see?"

For one weird, innocent moment, he was taken back by her query, but then it dawned on him where they were, and he began to laugh with her. "OK, so exhibitionism is out of the question. Where can we go?"

Her laughter grew stronger. "As corny and cliché as it sounds, my parents are out of town, visiting Olga," she said, emphasizing Olga in her usual sarcastic way. "We can use my room." He nodded and stood, offering a hand to her. She shrugged him off. "I can stand on my own just fine, thanks."

He smiled. 'A bit of foreshadowing there, Ms. Pataki?' he mused. Again, he nodded, and they began the trek to her house. All sorts of thoughts were flowing through his head. Thoughts of what they were about to do, thoughts that she could get pregnant, and thoughts that she'd change her mind or worse -- hate him in the end. And then he began to reflect on their time together and their future, and the more he spent dwelling on it, the more he knew that he'd wind up missing her and feeling like some stooge when he was on his own again. Time had long passed since he'd mentally accepted her as a part of his life…and possibly, his soul. So what now? They'd go back to her apartment, get to know each other in a whole new light, and then he'd just leave her? It wasn't that simple for her or even for him. Even if he'd tried to be flippant earlier with her and brush her off like a crumb, deep inside, he really did love her, and it was tearing his core apart to think about the future…his future without her.

Maybe sex was a big mistake.

Using his peripheral vision to look at her, he weighed the possible outcomes of telling her that he couldn't bring himself to go through with their plan. None of the outcomes he visualized pleased her, and definitely didn't please him.

Suddenly, she broke the awkward silence of their journey and said, "I'm glad you aren't having second thoughts, Arnold."

Well, so much for trying to get out of it.

She continued. "I mean, there are plenty of other girls out there that would like to be in my shoes, and they are a hell of a lot prettier than me." Then she coughed, and when he glanced askance, he noticed she was fighting with herself to prevent crying. "I mean…well, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll understand." She whispered, "I guess," and then focused her attention on the sidewalk again.

He should have felt relieved, but he didn't.

Because he was suddenly aware that he wanted -- no, needed this just as much as she did. It felt like completion.

But it also felt like the end.

"You aren't answering me," she said, interrupting his train of thought.

He smiled gently. "No, I'm not having any second thoughts. I love you, and this feels right." Her grip on him tightened, but not in a painful way. "Like I said, Helga, I'll always love you. You know that."

"I hope so," she whispered. It was almost too soft for him to hear. "I really hope so."

If there was a way to physically kick himself in the ass, he would've invented it just then. Instead, he just felt depressed. How could she doubt his love for her?


End file.
